


Place Your Bets

by Spinning_Mouse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, basically fluff though, idk how to tag this, templars are rude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 02:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_Mouse/pseuds/Spinning_Mouse
Summary: Varric makes a bet





	Place Your Bets

It started, as so many things do, at the tavern.

Dorian couldn’t decide if he wanted to be there or not. On the one hand, alcohol. It might be cheap and likely to have a similar taste to oxen piss, but it was alcohol.

On the other hand, he was boxed in with a towering Qunari spy on one side and and overly righteous bear of a warden on the other. Sera and Varric sat across from them, which didn’t make the situation any more appealing.

At the very least these people created a sort of buffer between him and the rest of the Inquisition. Sure, Bull might stab him in the back, but it wouldn’t be in the middle of the tavern, and the Inquisitor wouldn’t be pleased at the casual murder inside his little fortress. The Inquisitor was the only thing keeping Bull and his company fed at the moment.

Unfortunately it looked like the pros outweighed the cons, so Dorian stayed put and suffered Sera’s endless lewd jokes about the female form.

“You know buttercup, I’m surprised you don’t call the Inquisitor by his name. You don’t seem like the formal type.” Varric chuckled. 

Dorian’s attention snapped to the conversation. He hadn’t realized they were talking about the Inquisitor. He also had no desire to examine why he was suddenly so interested.

Sera snorted. “Does he even have one?”

“Buttercup,” Varric sounded shocked, or at least he pretended to sound shocked, “Are you telling me you don’t know the name of our dear Inquisitorialness?”

“Well no.” She sounded unsure at first, but in true Sera fashion quickly rallied. “Why would I? Never told me, has he? What, he’s told you?” She ended it almost like an accusation. Varric just raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah. I _asked._ ”

The table fell silent. Dorian watched Varric’s eyes flick from person to person and found himself regretting the decision to stay more every moment. He took a swig of his ale for comfort. 

“You’re shitting me.” Varric leaned back in his chair, genuine shock clear. “Not one of you know the Inquisitor's name? Really?”

“Lavellan of course,” Blackwall said gruffly, likely the only way the giant furball knew how to say anything.

“This may shock you, but he’s got a first name too.” The dwarf shook his head like a mother disappointed in her children.

“He’s hardly the most forthcoming of people.” Dorian blurted out. All eyes turned to him. Maybe he’d drunk a little too much shitty ale. 

“Or maybe you people just aren’t putting in the effort.” Varric mocked. Dorian snorted. He may regret speaking but now that he had there was no way he’d back down.

“I’m a noble from Tevinter, land of secrets, blackmail, and political maneuvering that puts Orlesians to shame. You think I couldn’t find the Inquisitor’s name if I really wanted to?”

“Big words, sparkler. That a challenge?” Varric waggled his eyebrows. Iron Bull grinned in a way that was more than a little unnerving.

“More like a bet.” The Qunari rumbled. 

“I didn’t say that.” Dorian quickly refuted.

“Ooh now he’s scared.” Sera cackled. Dorian made an uninterested noise and pretended like his ale was the only thing that could hold his attention.

“Twenty gold.” Iron Bull practically bellowed. “First one to get the Inquisitor’s name without asking him for it wins.”

Blackwall grumbled. “Competing with a known spy? Hardly seems fair.”

“Not up to the challenge, warden? Thought you guys were supposed to be tough.”

Predictably, Blackwall bristled and puffed out his chest, the affront clear on his face. 

“I’m in.”

“Me too!” Sera chimed in, “Love easy money.”

Varric focused on Dorian, a small smile on his face. 

“Well, sparkler?”

The looks around the table formed a nearly physical pressure on Dorian, uncomfortable enough to make him want to turn away. Not that he did, his years mired in the political scene of Tevinter made this look like nothing.

Still, he had to think how his answer would make him look. It wouldn’t do to look a coward in the eyes of his comrades, however much they disliked each other otherwise. Besides, he’d be lying if he claimed he wasn’t curious about their tight-lipped Inquisitor. He’d only seen the elf truly smile twice since meeting him, first when Dorian agreed to stay in Haven (a pleasant welcome whether the Inquisitor knew it or not), and then when Dorian made a joke at the expense of the southern Chantry. One thing he knew at least; for a man sent by Andraste he didn’t seem to be her biggest fan. He’d also learned pretty quickly that the Inquisitor prefered literally any title over “herald.”

He made a show of thinking, acting as if he were careful mulling over his options. Finally, after a last sip of his ale, he stared Varric dead in the eyes.

“I’m in.”

***

The first new thing Dorian learned about the Inquisitor; he was mysterious. Not the way Varric would write a mysterious character, he didn’t cover his face or speak in riddles. He was just very good at giving nothing away. It was impressive really, even when watching the man deal with entitled nobles he was so good at maintaining a neutral face Dorian felt he might actually survive in Tevinter politics. Well, ignoring the whole Dalish Elf thing.

Dorian couldn’t help the pride he felt during their occasional library conversation when the Inquisitor showed more emotion in a few minutes than Dorian had seen in him all day. The conversations weren’t much. Dorian complained about his deplorable living conditions in a way that tugged small smiles out of the other man. Lavellan complained about nobles and soldiers and all the minutia of handling an organization this large. 

Never anything personal though, not really. Occasionally, he’d slip up, make an offhand comment about how “the food here is nothing like back with my clan.” He was always quick to clam up though, to turn the conversation away. Dorian had noticed it before, but now it was more obvious than ever. Dorian knew he didn’t like the food here and that he slept better in tents out on missions than in his chambers at Skyhold. Despite Josephine’s desperate pleas he refused any kind of footwear and had secretly had new clothes altered to be more fitting for an elf than a noble. 

He didn’t know what food the Inquisitor liked though. He didn’t know why the Inquisitor’s chambers were so uncomfortable or why he treated shoes and nice clothes like personal insults. Lavellan cut the conversation short before then, every time.

It had crossed Dorian’s mind that the Inquisitor simply didn’t trust him, but that thought was quickly dismissed. He was no more open with anybody else, so even if he didn’t trust Dorian, his Tevinter heritage was not the only cause for his silence. Except for a couple of arguments in Haven the Inquisitor had never shown issue with Dorian’s place of origin. The man may hate Tevinter itself but had somehow separated those issues from Dorian. At least as far as Dorian could tell.

As the days passed and his progress completely stalled, he found himself caring less and less about the bet. At this point it had become more of a personal challenge. 

He had one comfort in all of this though, his lack of real competition. Of the three playing against him there was only one who gave him any real concern. The lumbering bear of a warden wouldn’t know subtlety if it slapped him upside the face, and Sera was...well she certainly had her own view of the world. Creative thinking, that was for sure.

The spy, on the other hand. He would be a problem.

After a week of no progress and smirks from a certain dwarf that made him want to tear his hair out (well, maybe not his hair, he put a lot of effort into that. Somebody else's hair then.), he made a decision. Sera and Blackwall’s attempts had been fairly obvious. Iron Bull’s, however, had not. 

Dorian spent quite a few nights at the quaint little tavern set up near the sparring rings. In fact, he was there every night he wasn’t staying up researching Corypheus, usually sequestered at the edge of the bar or in a corner to keep space between him and the unwashed masses. Iron Bull had a tendency of spending his nights there with his Chargers as well, though Dorian always eyed his drinks and questioned if the Qunari was a drunk as he pretended to be. 

To actually talk to the man though, that would require a change in strategy. 

Dorian opened the door, head held high, his usual picture of confidence, while his mind ran. It would be too noticeable to try and sit with the chargers after the lonely precedent he’d set. 

Or, Bull could already be sitting alone at the bar, Chargers nowhere in sight. And he could notice Dorian standing shell shocked by the door. And wave him over with a wink. After raising an eyebrow and making a clear face of disgust, Dorian made a beeline for the bar. 

“No mercenaries tonight?” Dorian asked. “No rowdy group of drunkards to howl when you wink at the nearest barmaid? Must be terribly boring for you.”

“I manage.” The Bull said casually, as if every word out of Dorian’s mouth hadn’t been an insult. It was horribly frustrating for Dorian. He never seemed to get a real rise out of The Bull, just smirks and a casual attitude brushing off any real concerns, turning Dorian’s biting remarks into jokes.

Dorian took his seat and ordered his usual beer flavored water. The Bull offered no conversation, sipping his drink with none of his usual careless movements. He sat in a comfortable silence that did not extend to his Tevinter companion.

Years of training, of smooth talking his way through vicious Tevinter politics, had left him strangely unprepared for interrogating a Qunari spy. Well, it wasn’t as if their bet was a secret from each other. They were competing after all, it was natural to ask after the others progress. That didn’t mean the other would give anything away, but it was amazing how much you could glean from tone and body language. 

“If you want to ask me about the bet, you can go ahead. I won’t bite. Unless you ask for it, of course.” There was that damnable smirk from the giant man. Dorian took his time ignoring him, acting as if his drink were worth the time he spent on it.

“You know I’ve heard some of the methods your people use to gather information. It must be terribly difficult not being able to use them now.” 

Bull just chuckled, completely unfazed, as usual. 

“There’s more than one way to get information _mage_. Besides, I’ve dropped out anyway, it’s all yours.”

Bull nursed his drink while Dorian choked on his, the Tevinter trying to keep composure through his coughing fit. 

“ _Dropped out_ ” Dorian dropped all pretense of composure to stare at the other man. “Just like that? It’s barely been a week!”

The Bull chuckled, taking his time gulping down his drink with the grace of an actual Bull before slamming the mug back on the table.

“I didn’t _give up_ mage, I decided to stop.” He watched Dorian out of the corner of his eye for a moment, his expression more thoughtful than anything, but Dorian still found himself tensing under the scrutiny. 

“You actually pay attention to the boss when he talks? _Really_ pay attention? The way he dodges questions, turns topics around. You could ask him to his face in front of the Orlesian court about his family and he’d find a way to talk about something else.”

Dorian had seen that, but he refused to give Bull any sort of satisfaction from being right.

“The going gets tough so you give up, just like that?”

“I’m _saying_ if someone tries that hard to hide, it’s not worth digging into just for a bet. Besides, whatever you think, I’m not here to ruin the Inquisition, or the Inquisitor. As long as it doesn’t hurt us, there’s no reason to piss him off looking into it. Seems like a sensitive topic for him anyway.”

Bull stayed relaxed through the whole thing. From an outside perspective he was probably talking about the weather, or whatever awkward mundane topic a Tevinter mage and Qunari mercenary would discuss.

Dorian opened his mouth to argue, to ask how a name could be so sensitive, then shut it again.

What a stupid question.

***

He very nearly made it back to his room. 

He’d spent too long at the tavern, that was clear. What was the point of stashing expensive wines requested by both himself and Vivienne in his room if he was going to get drunk on whatever swill the tavern tried to pass off as beer? It was a waste, really.

But he could do this. It wasn’t that far to his room, really. The stairs presented him with the most difficulty, but there was nobody around to notice his stumbling. The guards prowling the edges of Skyhold had most of their attention turned outward.

It wasn’t until he got to the door of the library that he noticed the templars. Two of them, watching him, giving what must have been half hearted efforts to look casual. It was difficult, what with the world refusing to sit steady, but Dorian tried to push himself faster. There were a few people in the main hall, but the second he stepped out he would be alone until he found his room, without his staff on top of it all. Normally this wouldn’t be such a big concern, he was hardly helpless without his staff, but like this…

Well, the templars in the south were nothing like the ones back home.

If only they had put some actual effort into the decorations, maybe his addled mind wouldn’t have mistaken the corridors. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken a wrong turn at the last second and found himself trapped, alone, in a dead end with two templars blocking his only exit. 

He wished he could say he only felt confidence, that he wasn’t afraid. But that would be a lie, and Dorian had gotten tired of lying to himself long ago.

Still, there was something to say for appearances. He smiled, or maybe it was more of a smirk, keeping his head held high.

“Gentlemen! Good to see you on this fine evening, but I’m afraid I must ask you to move. Seem to have taken a wrong turn, so, if you would…” He gestured, still smiling, for them to move. Not surprisingly, they didn’t. 

“You’re the Tevinter mage.” One of them sneered at him. 

“You’ve got me there,” He responded dryly, “but it’s very late and I really need my beauty rest. Well, I don’t _need_ it, but it can’t hurt.”

“Shut up.” The other one said. Or was it the first one? Who knew, they were the same brand of clueless thug.

One of them stepped forward. The other followed. Dorian would have tried to step back if there wasn’t a stone wall barely a couple feet behind him.

He had no staff, but he wasn’t useless. These two were hardly in full templar armor right now. Chances are a fireball would still leave a mark. It was more difficult than usual, pulling it through the haze in his head, but Dorian managed to call his magic. Just enough to get his hand sparking and give him the pleasure of the flicker of fear in the eyes of the Templars. He was ready to turn the raw power into a proper fireball, ready to throw it with everything he had, when a voice interrupted them all.

“ _What is going on_.”

It took a moment to recognize the voice, colder than he’d ever heard it, more furious than he’d imagined possible. As much relief as the voice brought him, it was a tone he hoped to never hear again.

The reaction of the templars, at least, was a source of entertainment. They began in anger at being interrupted, confusion at the Dalish Elf standing before them, then horror at the realization of who he was.

“Inquisitor!” The Templars both stumbled over the word like some sort of cheap comedy act.

“I will be in Cullen’s office in five minutes. If you both are not there waiting for me I will ensure neither of you survives the night.” The Inquisitor glared them both down. Dorian had never seen Templars run so fast from a slim unarmed elf in his life, and almost hoped he would have the chance to see it again. The barely gave themselves time to mutter a “yes, sir” before they bolted.

The expression on the Inquisitor’s face, however, was far less amusing. The fury faded into something...sad. Dorian cleared his throat.

“The big bad Inquisitor saves the way once again. It seems I’m in your debt.” He gave a small bow, or at least tried to, balance being a bit of an issue at the moment. The Inquisitor paid no attention to his chipper tone.

“Are you alright Dorian?”

The expression, the sincerity of the words....it was all very uncomfortable. Dorian sighed.

“I’m fine, really. That was nothing.” He waved a hand as if waving the whole issue into the void. “I’ve dealt with far worse.”

The inquisitor only frowned.

“I don’t think those words are as comforting as you meant them to be.” The elf glanced away, in the direction the Templars had gone running.

“I need to take care of this. They will be punished harshly, I assure you of that.” His voice turned hard once again. Dorian had no idea how to respond, so he didn’t, blaming the alcohol for his inability to find words. The Inquisitor cast him one last glance, and then he was gone, leaving Dorian alone. Very alone.

Finding his room was much simpler this time. After closing the door behind him with more force than strictly necessary, he stared at his room, the small space he’d tried to make his own. It may as well have been bare compared to where he used to live. 

Of course, where he used to live, Templars would have never dared try to attack him. And elves like the Inquisitor wouldn’t exist at all, except perhaps as particularly exotic slaves.

And he would still be living a lie.

Dorian felt the well of emotions bubbling, some years old, some much newer and far more confusing. None of them very attractive right now. But he knew the best way to deal with situations like this.

It only took a moment to uncover his stash, picking up a bottle he’d chosen mostly to spite Vivienne. A grand way to spend his night.

He uncorked it, and did his best to focus only on what was in front of him.

***

As a Tevinter mage, Dorian has quite a few enemies this far south simply by existing. He knew that. He’d long since accepted it, as much as he tried to change minds of those willing to listen. But this, this was too much. What could he have possibly done, what monstrosities had he committed, to earn such pure hatred?

“ _What_ ,” Dorian demanded. If his room wasn’t so small it would be impossible for another person to hide in it, he would have thought someone had snuck behind him and been attempting to chisel through his skull for the last several minutes. Every knock on his door made it that much worse.

“...Dorian?” 

Oh. He knew that voice.

His memories of the previous night weren’t perfect, but they were more than enough to force him out of bed. Of course, his mirror stopped him in his tracks.

He cursed under his breath. After last night, the last thing he needed was to somehow make the Inquisitor’s impression of him _worse_. 

“It’s alright Dorian, you don’t need to open the door. I just wanted to let you know, those two are out of skyhold. And they won’t be coming back.” The Inquisitor’s voice lowered at the last part, more of a growl than anything.

“Andraste’s ass.” Dorian muttered. He stepped toward the door in a few long strides, swinging it open without preamble. His head immediately informed him of the foolishness of his actions. Dear god, what he must look like right now.

The Inquisitor chuckled. It was not comforting.

“Would you like me to bring you some water?” The elf offered. “Maybe one of the healers has a remedy.”

Dorian forced himself to stand up straight.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

The Inquisitor was...strangely casual. The clothes he wore looked nothing like the outfits Josephine had tailored for him, bright, stiff clothes with the symbol of the Inquisition emblazoned everywhere possible. In fact, these almost looked the opposite, softer clothes of dull greens and browns, the kind a peasant might wear. The design wasn’t something he was entirely used to. They had none of the intricacies of a noble’s clothes, but were cut and layered in a unique way, hugging the body instead of hanging loosely from it, except for extensions of his tunic in the front and back, the kind of thing he’d expect from robes instead of a shirt.

“It’s of Dalish design.”

Dorian’s eyes snapped back up. 

“Ah, is that right? Fascinating.” He felt like a teenager that had been caught staring. What was wrong with him?

The Inquisitor pressed his lips together. Was he...trying not to laugh?

“Apologies for my state this morning Inquisitor, but as I’ve said before, I’m here if you need anything.”

In an uncharacteristically shy motion, the Inquisitor glanced away, not quite looking Dorian in the eyes as he responded.

“No, I don’t need anything I just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright.”

“Oh. Well as I said, I’m fine.” He spoke brusquely out of habit, but after a pause, spoke more softly. “I appreciate your help, however. Your timing was perfect”

“I’d been following the templars,” The Inquisitor admitted, “You don’t usually see them inside. I’d prefer they weren’t inside anyway. I’ve never met a templar I could trust.” The words were harsh, full of emotion. For a moment, Dorian reflected the Inquisitor’s anger. Just what had the templars done to this man?

The Inquisitor sighed. “I should go, Josephine expects me in the war room.”

“Then good day to you, Inquisitor.” Dorian bowed. He wanted to pry, to ask questions, to know more about the man in front of him, but he refrained. He knew better than that. 

Dorian made to shut his door, but the Inquisitor stopped him with another word, his voice odd and quiet.

“Rasan.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Rasan,” He repeated, louder this time, “You don’t need to always call me Inquisitor.”

Dorian stared. He opened his mouth. He closed it.

“Rasan?” He finally repeated when he remembered how to use his voice.

“Well, Rasanon Mahanon Lavellan, technically, but Rasan is much easier.” The Inquisitor-or, Rasan-smiled. Not a smirk this time, but a proper smile.

“Of course. Good day to you...Rasan.”

Rasan nodded, and then he was gone, and Dorian was once again alone. This time, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

***

He said nothing. For another week, he watched the ever increasing frustration of Sera and Blackwall, feigning ignorance anytime they asked after his own progress. He kept the name to himself, only daring to use it when they were alone or he knew nobody would hear. If Rasan noticed this he said nothing. Dorian could have sworn, however, that the Inquisitor’s duties somehow brought him by the library more often than they had in the past.

Every time he said the Inquisitor’s name, every time the Inquisitor hiked up the library stairs simply to talk to him, his heart felt lighter. For just a bit, the problems of the world faded into the background.

But then Rasan would leave, and his heart would fall right back down. In fact, it only got heavier as Dorian was forced to recognize what was happening.

Well, what was happening for him. Finally free to be himself, and the first person he fancied was quite possibly the most unavailable one in Thedas.

Now, a week later, he sulked in his chosen chair in the library. The Inquisitor had left only moments ago, after one of Leliana’s people found him and told him Josephine had asked him to meet with her and wanted the poor messenger to tell him not to hide from visiting nobles.

“Since when has brooding been your thing, sparkler?”

Dorian jumped, sending the thick tomb in his lap toppling to the ground. 

“Do all dwarves greet people by sneaking up on them?” He snapped.

“If you call that sneaking I’d suggest you never visit Kirkwall. I’d give you about thirty seconds before you lost all your coin.” Varric said, completely unfazed by Dorian’s attitude. 

“Well go ahead and tell me what you came up for.”

Varric shook his head. “Shouldn’t rich people have more manners.”

“Clearly you’ve never been to Tevinter.”

“As far as you know.”

“ _Varric_.”

Varric held his hands up in surrender.

“Just wanted to let you know, the bet’s over.”

Dorian froze. That was...unexpected.

“Over? How? Who?”

The dwarf just chuckled. 

“We’ll settle it all after dinner tonight. It’s the thing Ruffles likes to do sometimes, you know with us all together. It’ll be interesting, now that most of us actually know the Inquisitor’s name.”

“Is that right.” Dorian said.

“Yeah. We’ve actually been talking to each other you see. You might be the only one left in the dark.”

Dorian put a hand to his temple. He could feel the headache coming.

“And you don’t plan on telling me, do you?” Not that he needed to be told, but he wasn’t about to reveal that.

Varric shrugged.

“You know who you could ask. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight sparkler. Got a few things I’ve got to take care of.”

Dorian grunted in response, leaving Varric to go down the stairs in silence. 

Everyone knew now, did they? No longer a special secret, but common knowledge. That was good, he supposed. He shouldn’t go thinking he was special anyway. It wouldn’t go anywhere good.

Carefully, he picked his book back up, flipping through pages until he found his place, happy to bury his nose and ignore the world around him.

***

Ever since they had arrived in Skyhold, Josephine had insisted on a weekly dinner of the inner circle, a way to bond so she said. It had never been a fun affair, but at least now it was slightly less awkward than it used to be.

By some cruel twist of fate, Dorian ended up next to Rasan, who of course sat at the head of the table. He wore the clothes Josephine had gotten for him this time, clearly both uncomfortable and resigned. Varric had managed to sit on the Inquisitor’s other side, throwing a wink Dorian’s way as the meal began. 

_The only one who doesn’t know his name, hmm?_

It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, but at the very least, Dorian could show up Varric. A personal victory over the frustrating dwarf. 

Early on in the meal, a basket of rolls was passed around the table, conveniently coming towards Dorian from Rasan’s direction. A perfect opportunity.

The Inquisitor handed him the basket with a nod. 

“Thank you, Rasan.”

The chatter around the table stopped. It took a few seconds before Sera yelled, thumping a hand on the table.

“Balls!”

“Is everything ok, Sera?” Rasan asked calmly, as if nothing were wrong.

“What? Er, yeah. Just thinkin’. About things.”

Rasan nodded, accepting that answer without a fight, though Dorian noticed the questioning glance he sent Varric’s way. Varric only responded with a small nod.

_You son of a bitch_

Dorian kept his face neutral, focusing on his food until the conversation resumed. Only then did he risk looking up, fixing Varric with the harshest glare he could.

_You lying bastard_

Varric just winked. 

Dorian didn’t think it could get worse, but then the meal ended, and Varric, oh so casually, sidled up to Dorian as he walked away. 

“Just so you know sparkler, I’ve known for four days.”

Dorian spun to face Varric, furious, but Varric was already walking away.

“You kids have fun now!” He called back, laughing his way right out of the main hall, his job done for the day. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sad so I spent the last couple hours doing this instead of anything productive. My writing might be bad but Dorian is wonderful and deserves to be happy.


End file.
